Pathfinder Tales--Reaper's Eye

by Richard A. Knaak

  They had found Shiera’s kidnappers … or what remained of them.

  A pale Raffan looked up as Daryus dismounted. “Thank the gods it’s you!” He leapt to his feet. “I woke—I woke to find myself in the saddle. I nearly fell off. There—there was some water nearby. I rode toward it, dismounted … and then found them.”

  Daryus paid little attention to Raffan’s words, instead quickly searching the camp. Three of the mercenaries, including Galifar himself, lay in various postures of painful death. Of Shiera Tristane, there was little sign, save an odd pile of ropes that would have been perfect for binding a prisoner.

  Then, just a bit beyond the camp, Daryus found the fourth mercenary.

  Some larger animal had clearly dragged the body off and begun feasting, only to be interrupted. However, that was not what interested Daryus most. What did was the middle of the torso, just under the ribs, where it almost looked as if something had burst out of the body.

  Kneeling near it, Daryus gritted his teeth. Horror came in many forms in the Worldwound, and while the former crusader had never seen any creature responsible for this, he had come across a body in such shape. One of the older crusaders with him at the time had identified the culprit for him.

  Raffan came up next to him. “Gods! What happened here?”

  “This looks like the work of a grimslake,” Daryus muttered. “Planted eggs in this one, one of which hatched. Ate the innards until it was big enough to go hunting for fresher food.”

  “They breed in corpses?” Raffan asked with dismay.

  “If you’re lucky … but even though they develop swiftly, they shouldn’t be spawning this fast. Not unless something else disturbed them.”

  “Grimslake…” murmured Raffan, heading back to the camp. “Is there nothing normal in this—”

  Raffan let out a gasp.

  Weapon drawn, Daryus rushed to the younger man. However, as he approached, he wondered just what had so disturbed Raffan. Other than the corpses, Daryus could see nothing.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “He— It—” Still walking, Raffan pointed at the ruined corpse of Captain Galifar. “He moved!”

  “He did what?” Daryus considered himself a fairly good judge of death, and Galifar had clearly been dead for many hours. Yet he doubted that Raffan, as jumpy a character as he seemed to be, could already be imagining—

  Galifar’s body shook.

  “It’s those things!” Raffan suddenly blurted. He drew a dagger and rushed to the body. Before Daryus could realize what he intended, Raffan began stabbing at the stomach.

  “You fool! You’re not going to stop them like that!” Daryus roared. He grabbed at Raffan and pulled the man back, but it was already too late.

  The ruined area just below the ribs tore open, but this time from within. The mercenary’s intestines began spilling out.

  No … not his intestines, but rather an increasing number of serpentine maggots that quickly spread around the body in search of prey. Each was already nearly a foot long, with an armored back, barbed tail, and round mouth full of sharp, hooked teeth.

  Daryus dragged Raffan farther back. “Stay behind me!”

  They were grimslakes, of course … grimslakes hatching too soon. However, that did not make them any less dangerous. Unchecked, grimslakes could multiply like flies. The only thing preventing it was that, without an immediate new source of food, the young always turned on one another. Generally, only one or two survived to adulthood, or so Daryus’s old commander had sworn.

  But now this batch, though born prematurely, both saw and smelled the freshness of the two men and their horses.

  “Don’t let them touch you!” Daryus warned. “They’ll burrow inside you in seconds!”

  “Well, do something, then!”

  Biting back a retort, Daryus slashed at the nearest young. He managed to sever the head of one … only to find the body still trying to crawl toward him. At the same time, the other grimslakes spread out, making them much harder targets.

  “Gods! Do they burrow inside and then lay the eggs?”

  “No, I’m told the young just eat you! It’s the older ones you have to watch out for if you don’t want to become a host…”

  As he spoke, Daryus chopped apart the rest of the first parasite. This time, the bits stayed dead.

  “They’re everywhere!”

  Daryus glanced to the side. Sure enough, several of the young were circling Raffan.

  “Keep behind me! We’ll move toward the horses!”

  But even as he finished speaking, Daryus heard the sound of retreating footsteps as Raffan chose instead to flee for their mounts immediately.

  His rash action did exactly as Daryus feared. The swarm instantly focused on the moving object and raced after Raffan. Daryus had heard that young grimslakes could be especially fast, and this was borne out as several of them quickly cut the distance between Raffan and themselves.

  Despite it being the younger man’s own fault, Daryus couldn’t let the grimslakes have Raffan. Butchering the last few near him, he charged after the man.

  To his surprise, though, Raffan abruptly shifted direction. In doing so, he caused the grimslakes to not only pause, but even in some cases turn toward Daryus. Daryus, already running, had to struggle to keep from stumbling right into the vicious parasites. He only managed to not do so by thrusting the sword into the ground among the grimslakes, then using it to push himself back.

  Even then, it took quickly plucking the sword free and sweeping the tip across the oncoming beasts to keep even one of them from reaching him.

  He had no idea why Raffan had nearly created a new calamity, and couldn’t waste time worrying about it. He was now surrounded by the small but deadly grimslakes seeking him as a meal. Daryus dared not pay any more attention to his companion. He hoped that Raffan had at least finally had the presence of mind to get on his horse and ride off, preferably for Kenabres.

  The grimslakes moved with astounding fluidity, darting around Daryus’s sword with eagerness. The gaping, toothy mouths snapped at his legs. Daryus was aware that those teeth could tear through his leather boots without any trouble.

  He cut off the head of one, and then another. He succeeded in spearing one through the head, then tossed the wriggling corpse at another. While that one was distracted, Daryus beheaded it.

  Gasping from effort, he killed the last.

  A horse shrieked.

  Cursing, Daryus turned to see just what now threatened them.

  It was another grimslake.

  Another, much larger grimslake.

  The monster stood as tall as Daryus himself. Its rounded mouth snapped hungrily at Raffan’s horse, which in turn reared and kicked at the danger before it. Raffan, meanwhile, hung on for dear life, his grip on the reins the only thing keeping him from falling backward.

  Clearly sensing Daryus to be a threat to the bounty Raffan and the horse presented, the grimslake slithered toward him, then lunged.

  Letting out a fierce roar, Daryus dropped beneath the attack, throwing himself underneath the gaping maw. As he did, he thrust up with the sword.

  His blade made a deep cut in the pale flesh. With a shrill sound, the grimslake twisted away from the blade.

  Daryus started to roll away, only to be struck by the tail end of the beast. Stunned, he tumbled the opposite direction, in the process losing his sword. He glanced at his hand and wrist, both cut by the grimslake’s incredibly sharp scales.

  He instinctively threw himself as far as he could from where he thought the grimslake was. As his head cleared, he looked back just in time to see the horrific mouth closing in on him. Still straining, Daryus grabbed for whatever was available nearby … which proved to be the arm of one of the corpses.

  He shoved the dead body in front of him. The grimslake snatched the corpse up. It shook the mercenary twice, then tossed the limp form aside.

  However, by that time, Daryus was already racing for his sword. Out of
the corner of his eye, he saw Raffan dismounting.

  “Get out of here!” Daryus shouted. “Get out!”

  That was all the aid he could offer the foolish man at the moment. If Raffan didn’t listen to reason this time, Daryus planned to wash his hands of his companion. Assuming he still had hands when this was over.

  He seized up the sword. Feeling a little safer, he spun to face his monstrous foe.

  Keeping its head high, the grimslake slithered toward him. Daryus studied the creature, especially where he had wounded it. Even though the cut had been deep, it had clearly not affected the grimslake as much as he had hoped. In fact, the wound looked as if it had sealed over already. Daryus was not familiar with the healing properties of such beasts, but hoped he was not facing a horror that sealed its wounds faster than he could inflict them.

  The grimslake’s fetid breath kept threatening to overwhelm Daryus. He slashed at the monster, keeping it at bay while he sought some weakness. Unfortunately, nothing presented itself. Daryus could only try to consider what he knew about the beast from both his long-ago commander and the young grimslakes he had already destroyed.

  Much to his regret, that meant only one possible course of action. Shouting at the top of his voice and waving the sword like a madman, Daryus charged.

  His audacity, along with all his noise caused the monstrosity to rear back in uncertainty, and Daryus used that moment to come under the grimslake.

  The moment he had the reach, Daryus cut into his grisly foe. This time, he did not simply plunge the blade in. Instead, he used every second given him to cut a long, savage ravine in the grimslake’s torso.

  The creature reared higher. Daryus forced the blade’s edge another half foot along, then finally retreated.

  He did so just in time, the grimslake seeking in its agony to crush its enemy beneath it. The heavy body struck the ground just a breath after Daryus fled.

  Unwilling to give the beast any chance to recuperate, Daryus charged a second time. He leapt onto the grimslake’s back, then began hacking across the back behind the head. What passed for the grimslake’s blood and other life fluids splattered him as he went to work. Sharp scales sliced through the protective leather like cheesecloth, but Daryus gritted his teeth and ignored the wounds. He had suffered worse. Giving in to the pain would only risk the grimslake still managing to kill him.

  The monster shook and shivered, more than once almost throwing Daryus from it. Yet still Daryus cut.

  When he finally had the wound open wide enough, Daryus gritted his teeth and plunged the sword into the head. He wasn’t certain just exactly where what the grimslake called a brain could be found, but hoped that thrusting into the center would have the effect he desired.

  The grimslake’s hissing grew ragged. The head rose, nearly ripping the sword from Daryus. Teeth bared, he held on as he twisted the blade around.

  The wild movements of the head slowed. The head shivered one more time … then ceased to move.

  The same could not be said for the rest of the grimslake. It convulsed violently, at last managing to unseat its tormentor. Daryus barely held on to the sword as he fell off.

  The body trembled, then finally went limp.

  Panting, Daryus pulled his sword free. The weapon and his arm were covered in foulness, the rest of his body not much better. He had cuts over his arms, legs, and torso—anywhere not covered by protective metal—but fortunately all proved to be shallow. Daryus wiped his brow, hoping this was the end of the Worldwound’s surprises for at least a little while.

  Thought of Raffan’s safety stirred him to action again. Despite having decided he would no longer concern himself with the other man, Daryus now worried that perhaps Raffan had fallen prey to some other danger while the fighter had been dealing with the grimslake.

  “Raffan!” As he called, Daryus turned to where he had last seen his companion. “Are you all—”

  He stopped short. There, near the horse, a slightly disheveled Raffan argued—with Toy.

  “Well, I’ve had enough!” Raffan snarled. “Enough! I nearly got killed because of you!”

  Toy said nothing, but the weasel’s body bespoke a great tension.

  Raffan looked over at Daryus. “And I’ve had more than enough of you.”

  The well-dressed man had a small mechanical device akin to a tiny hand crossbow pointed Daryus’s way.

  Daryus lunged.

  Raffan fired.

  The needle struck Daryus in the neck.

  The world faded away.

  20

  WHAT LIES BENEATH

  She’s found something!

  Grigor forced down his anticipation. There was so much that could go wrong at this point, especially revolving around just exactly how the Pathfinder had located the vital clue to the witch’s quest. Grigor had also pushed the pitborn to their limits, which meant their assistance would be questionable at best when the time came.

  “Spread out,” Grigor ordered the pitborn. The twenty or so demonspawn did as commanded, albeit at a far slower pace than the witch desired. While they moved, Grigor considered his own next step. He did not want to sacrifice another bat even this close. There was still a chance this was only another step in what had already been a very long search. Besides, Grigor did not appreciate the pain he felt each time such a creature died.

  “Damned wolf…” The witch had long known that some force sought to prevent the discovery of Uhl-Adanar, some magical force he believed those who had buried the temple-city in the first place had long ago set into motion. They did not want anyone finding the tomb of Tzadn for the simple reason that it was not a tomb by normal definition. From every indication, Tzadn was not dead—not surprising, given that what the ancient people had called a deity, Grigor was certain was actually a demon of tremendous power.

  Grigor’s entire life had been a thirst for power. The seventh son of a seventh son in a noble house, he had been given a small inheritance and promptly forgotten by his family, especially the patriarch, his grandfather. However, Grigor had never managed to forget them, nor the resentment he had felt toward his grandfather for literally dictating with the wave of his hand that Grigor was of no value, despite that tiny bit of blood tying them together.

  The witch smiled grimly. His grandfather’s blood had not looked any better than Grigor’s once the younger man had spilled it over the elegant carpet of the patriarch’s study.

  It had turned out that several of those with no more blood ties to the old man had actually cared more for him—or perhaps his money—than Grigor had. For twenty years and more, Grigor had been hunted by his kin. He had killed three and maimed a few more, but they had finally had their justice.

  Grigor still remembered the pyre vividly. The death by flame his distant cousins had condemned him to for his crimes. He remembered the pain, the screams … but most of all he remembered feeling his body turning to dry kindling as the heat first sucked all moisture from him before letting the flames devour his body.

  Of course, he had not died then. His new patron had kept that promise at least.

  Damn you! Grigor knew that when one dealt with demons, one had to beware of their promises. He had already been seeking out new avenues of power when it had been clear that his choices in the family had been few. Magic had proven the most intriguing, but most of the wizardry he first studied had been slow to learn, nowhere near the level of power he desired. Only when he had turned to the calling of witchcraft had he discovered methods by which he could gain tremendous power quickly.

  And only once Grigor had made his pact with an actual demonic patron had he truly understood what gaining such power involved.

  With the pitborn spread out, Grigor strode toward the nearly buried structure. He kept the staff ready, aware of the impediments still before him.

  A savage growl erupted from behind him. A pitborn screamed.

  Whirling, the witch beheld a winged demon ripping out the throat of one of his followers. Other pitborn
charged the cyclopean creature, although clearly there was already no hope for their comrade.

  One of the pitborn attempted a spell, but suddenly the demon shimmered. It became a huge, wolflike beast that cut the distance between it and the pitborn with remarkable swiftness. The “wolf” lunged at the would-be spellcaster and brought one powerful paw across the pitborn’s chest.

  Grigor concentrated.

  The staff shimmered. Grigor vanished, materializing right behind the creature just as it reverted to its demon shape. To his pleasure, he saw that there was already a wound in the back of the demon’s head. A minor one, but sufficient to help.

  He thrust the tip of the staff at the wound and released the spell.

  The demon howled in agony as missiles of pure energy burned into its head. The missile spell was one of the earlier ones that Grigor had learned, yet he had twisted it, made it stronger.

  Writhing, the demon tried to turn. Grigor shoved hard on the staff.

  With another pained howl, the demon staggered, then tumbled to the ground. It shimmered briefly, hints of the lupine form appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Grinning, the witch held the staff tight.

  “I owe you a bit more for my winged pet,” the pale man added.

  He shifted the staff and rammed it into the struggling demon’s gaping mouth.

  The demon’s head exploded. The mixed stench of burning demon and wolf filled the air.

  He watched for a moment as it burned. That the demon had a lupine shape, too, did not surprise him. This was no doubt a guardian, bound to the tomb by the powers of the same ancients who had built it. They had melded it with the spirit that to them represented Tzadn most on this plane—a wolf. It had made for a very capable servant, albeit a frustrating impediment to Grigor until now.

  And with its destruction, he thought that surely now his destiny was assured.

  Turning from the carcass, Grigor shouted, “Resume your places! Follow as previously commanded!”

  He approached the narrow exit. Through one of the bats, he had seen this part. Unperturbed by the slit’s width, Grigor shoved the staff into the frame, then turned it.